Aria’s POV

I still feel the heat under my palms, the floor trembling before the roof caved. Smoke tastes like old promises. I run with Hope pressed to my chest, her hair smelling of ash and moonflowers, and each step feels like leaving pieces of myself behind.

“It’s all right, baby,” I whisper, as words steady us both. Hope buries her face in my neck and makes a noise...half-breath, half-laugh...like she doesn’t see the danger. She never does. She only knows the warmth of my arms ...